Complications
by Jalos
Summary: When a woman with a dangerous secret takes an interest in Nathan Steele, the civilian alias of Dallas, how will the crew be affected? An action thriller with possible hints of romance, this story explores the potentially disastrous consequences of living two lives. Loyalties will be tested, bonds will be strengthened, and, of course, many things will be stolen.
1. A Day in the Life

**Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. 'Tis I, Jalos, back again. I am truly very sorry for being gone for so long. Between college, summer work, a few illnesses, and several crises in my personal life that none of you are probably interested in, fanfiction kinda took a back burner for a while.**

**And to those of you who read my Left 4 Dead stuff, I'm sorry but that's taking a back burner for now. I haven't felt inspired about any of those for a while. If enough of you want me to revive a particular story I'll do my best, but for now I'll be sticking with this new subject matter.**

**One last thing before we get to the action - this story is rated T for violence, language, and possibly more to come. This rating is subject to change a later date. Consider yourself warned.**

**Enough boring stuff. On with the show!**

**~~o~~**

Jeff was one of three guards working the afternoon shift at the modest-sized Harvest &amp; Trustee branch in D.C. It was three o'clock on a Saturday, and he was already itching to go home. He could feel his new boxed set of Breaking Bad sitting in his cabinet calling his name, waiting for him to sit down with a six-pack of Miller and a bag of Doritos and marathon it.

Letting out a long breath, he leaned against the wall, listening to the dull murmur of the tellers and customers babbling in the other room. His pager beeped, and he fished it from his belt, thumbing the 'talk' button. "What's up?"

"Just checking in," the operator said. "See anything out of the ordinary?"

"Hey, if I did, you'd be the first to know," Jeff quipped.

The operator sighed. "Good enough for me. See you for bowling later?"

Jeff chuckled. "That's an affirmative. Over and out."

No sooner had he returned the pager to its place on his belt when a noise caught his attention. He could barely make it out, but it was some kind of whirring, scraping sound... and it seemed to be coming from the roof.

Debating getting on the pager, he decided it was probably just the air conditioning acting weird but he should check on it anyway. As he climbed the stairs, his hand strayed to the grip of the pistol at his hip... he'd never yet had to use it on the job, thank goodness. Maybe it was just his nerves, but something seemed off today.

As he got to the top of the stairs, he saw it - a power drill in some kind of harness affixed to the door that led into the power room where the circuit breakers were. His fingers closed around the rubber grip of his pistol... and something hard impacted the back of his head at speed. He pitched forward without a sound, out cold before he hit the ground.

The man known to the world as Dallas knelt down next to the unconscious body, grabbing the poor sod by the arms and dragging him behind one of the large roof air conditioning units. Drawing his pistol again and walking out as Wolf tinkered with the drill, he asked "How long we got?"

"'Bout thirty seconds," the Swedish heister replied, without looking up.

Dallas checked his watch. 3:01. Everything was going according to plan... so far.

"Once you have the power off, we go in," he said. "Chains and I will hit the front lobby, you go in through the rear."

"Will Hoxton have security down by then?" Chains asked, working the bolt on his rifle.

"Come on, you could set your watch by that guy," Dallas replied with a chuckle. "If I told him you'd asked that, he'd probably be offended."

Chains shrugged. "Just makin' sure. Haven't worked with the guy as long as you."

Dallas sighed. "Look, I know we're all still sore about what happened... I mean, nobody was closer to that guy than me... but this guy's good, and I'm not just saying that because he's my brother. We've already been through a few jobs together, and he has yet to disappoint."

"Okay," Chains said, resting the rifle on his shoulder. "I trust you."

"We're in," Wolf said, breaking the tension. "Power to the vault's off."

"Awesome," Dallas said, and twirled his pistol like an old western gunslinger. "Let's get in there and torch some cartel money, shall we?"

"Don't see why we can't just steal it," Chains said, and Dallas shook his head.

"I wish we could too, buddy, but Bain says most of those bills are marked. Too easily traceable. Besides which, I'd really rather stay on Hector's good side, wouldn't you?"

Chains grunted in unenthusiastic agreement, and the two men headed for the stairs.

"Everybody, down on the ground!" Dallas yelled, firing a few rounds into the ceiling to make sure he got their attention. "And I mean right fuckin' now! Kiss the goddamn floor!"

Everyone did as they were told, except for one young man who looked paralyzed, staring at them with wide eyes. "You fuckin' deaf!?" Chains barked, getting in his face. "The man said get down, so unless you wanna be chewin' on a mouthful of lead, you better get _down!_"

He got down.

Dallas slipped into the tellers' office, trussing them up with plastic zipties and swiping all the loose cash from the sorting racks on his way back out. "In case any of you are thinking of being heroes... don't. We're not here for your money, we're here for the bank's money. Just stay the fuck down, and don't give me a reason to use this." He raised the pistol meaningfully, sighting experimentally down the barrel at one of the hostages. "I don't like making messes, but if one of you so much as fuckin' _looks_ at me wrong I will not hesitate to put you down."

"A little excessive, don't you think?"

Dallas turned to see his brother emerge from the hallway behind the tellers' office, suppressed sub-machine gun resting on his shoulder. "Maybe for you," he replied, throwing himself down in a chair and putting his feet up on another. "Not for me." Nodding in his brother's direction, he added "Nice work with security, by the way."

"Thanks," Hoxton replied curtly. "Wolf getting the lance set up?"

"Affirmative," Chains said with a nod. "We'll be out of here in no time."

The plan went off without a hitch. Dallas couldn't help feeling a little proud as the gang piled into the escape van and Twitch floored it. "Good hustle out there," he said, taking his mask off and running his latex-gloved hands through his hair to try and get it back into order. "Bet we'll have a hell of a payday waiting for us at the safe house."

Wolf let out a whoop, and banged the wall of the van a few times. "Hell yeah, baby! Kommer att bli rik som fan!"

Chains barked a laugh. "The hell does that even mean?"

Hoxton, ever the professional, was too busy dismantling his weapons to get involved.

"Hey, guys," Dallas cut in, clapping his hands together. "Let's talk business for a second. After we reach the safe house, do we all remember what we're doing?"

"Waiting one hour, going back to my apartment, and waiting for a phone call from you," Hoxton replied, without even having to think about it.

"Doing the same," said Chains, "But waiting two hours. What the hell am I supposed to do for two hours in the safe house, anyway?"

"I don't fucking know, practice on the firing range or something," Dallas said. "Jerk off for all I care. We don't want to all leave at the same time - too suspicious."

"And I'm staying there to fix up the drills," Wolf said. "I'll be the last one out, and lock the place up."

"Right," Dallas said. "And I'm going to meet one of Hector's men for dinner to arrange our reward, and maybe another job. I'll get in contact with all of you afterwards. And hey - have some fun tonight, alright? We did some damn fine work."

"Just don't get careless," Hoxton cautioned. "Everyone's going to be on alert so soon after today's job."

"Oh right, I forgot," Dallas muttered. "You don't know how to relax."

"Guy's got a point," Chains admitted.

Dallas sighed. "Yeah, yeah. So keep it low-key. Doesn't mean we can't kick back a little."

~~o~~

Dallas sat at his reserved table in the corner of Silverstone Restaurant and Grill, taking casual sips of his water every few minutes and covertly glancing around for his contact. He had changed suits and now wore a pinstriped charcoal-grey three-piece, his .45 in a concealed shoulder-hoster under his jacket. He felt naked going anywhere without a gun nowadays - besides which, in the business he was in, you never knew when you might have to defend yourself.

"Excuse me - are you Nathan Steele?"

Dallas froze. The voice was female, cultured, clipped. Professional. He glanced over to see a woman maybe in her mid-thirties dressed in what could best be described as business casual. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her blue eyes glittered with curiosity from behind her glasses. She didn't look like his contact, but he wasn't about to rule out the possibility.

Dallas put on his best friendly smile. "Yeah," he said. "That's me."

"So you were at First World Bank when it was hit by the Payday gang, right?" she asked.

He didn't let the jolt of panic in his gut show on his face. Not his contact, then. "Yes I was. Are you a reporter?"

"Not exactly," she said. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Actually I do," he said apologetically. "I'm waiting for someone."

She shrugged. "That's a shame. I'd love to ask you a few questions."

He frowned. "Now why would you want to do that if you're not a reporter?"

"Just call me a concerned citizen," she replied. She was about to turn to leave when she stopped and looked back at him. "You're not bad looking either, Mr. Steele... tell you what, I'll buy you dinner tomorrow night if you'll sate a woman's curiosity."

Dallas sighed. "Look, miss, I don't-..."

He was cut off as the man who had to be his contact walked up. "Mr. Steele," he said, dipping his head. Then he turned to the woman. "Who is this?"

"She was just leaving," Dallas said pointedly.

The woman set a folded piece of paper on the table, and leaned in close. Dallas got lost for a moment in the smell of her - some kind of flower, he thought, but couldn't identify it. "Think about it," she whispered, then turned and walked away.

"What was that all about?" the other man asked, taking a seat across from him.

"I have no idea," Dallas replied, pocketing the paper. "Now, let's get to business."

Thirty minutes later, Dallas walked out of the restaurant and hailed a cab. On the ride back to his apartment, he idly toyed with the piece of paper in his pocket. Who was that woman? Either she was lying and really was a reporter... or she had some other reason for wanting to know about the Payday gang. Either way, he wasn't keen on the idea of being grilled about it. But if he didn't take her up on the offer, she might get suspicious, and he would never figure out what she was after.

And he had to admit she wasn't hard on the eyes. It had been months since he'd gotten laid... the career criminal lifestyle didn't exactly lend itself to dating.

He shook his head, quickly squashing that idea. There was a _reason_ they didn't date. No outside attachments that could be used against them, no possible security leaks. So he would find out what she was after, give her what small tidbits of information he could to satisfy her without giving himself away, and then go his merry way and never see or hear from her ever again.

And if he got a little action out of the deal, well, all the better.

~~o~~

Their "date" - although if you called it that, Dallas might injure you - took place in Sherping Memorial Park. Dallas idly scanned the pavement for skid marks as he walked in, but found none. They'd done a pretty good job cleaning the place up since Dallas and his crew hit the Gensec convoy here.

The woman was sitting on a bench and looked up as he approached. "Oh, Mr. Steele," she said, standing up and smiling. "I almost thought you wouldn't show up."

Dallas put on his best smile. "Call me Nathan." Tilting his head, he added "And I believe you have the advantage on me."

"Yes, of course," she said, dimpling. "How could I forget? My name's Amanda."

"Well then, Amanda," Dallas said, taking a seat on the bench and motioning for her to sit next to him. "Why are you so interested in the First World Bank hit?"

She hesitated. "I've been following the Payday gang for a while now. This is the first time I've been able to talk to someone who's come face-to-face with them."

"Why me?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Why not one of the other employees?"

"Honestly?" she said. "Because I found you first."

He nodded. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

"Well, as we all know, there are four of them. Dallas, Wolf, Chains, and Hoxton, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much common knowledge."

"Right. What were they like in person?" she asked.

He barked a laugh. "I was a little preoccupied with the gun barrel being shoved into my face to make small-talk."

She flushed. "Right, of course. Sorry. It must have been terrifying."

He nodded. "It was. Now, if I'm not mistaken, there was going to be dinner involved?"

She held up a finger. "I said if you sate my curiosity. It hasn't been sated yet."

He frowned. "What else is there I can say?"

"Well first of all," she said, "I took a look at what security footage survived. The gang managed to sabotage most of it, but there were a few good shots left. I saw you on the second floor a minute before they arrived, but later you're gone and I can't find you anywhere. What happened?"

He licked his lips. "One of them - the one with the American flag on his face... I think that's Dallas? - hit me in the face, ziptied me and shoved me into a closet right before the police showed up."

She winced. "Well, at least you'll have a good story to-"

She was cut off as his phone rang. Muttering apologies, he fished it out of his pocket and looked at the number. It was one of several numbers that belonged to Bain. They changed every week, and as far as he knew, only the four members of the crew had access to them.

"Sorry, I need to take this," he said, standing up and thumbing the 'answer' button. "Hey, Jeff," he said, with a smile for Amanda's benefit. "How'd that meeting go?" It was a code they'd established for 'I can't talk right now.'

"Your apartment in twenty minutes," Bain said. "Be there."

"Sure thing, buddy," Dallas said. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll see you at the bar tomorrow?"

Bain hung up.

"I'm really sorry," he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket, "But my boss needs me back in the office. A big account from China arrived early and he wants me in the meeting."

Amanda nodded. "That's okay. We can talk more over dinner tonight, like I promised. Call me?"

"Will do," Dallas said, and walked away.

Dallas closed the door of his apartment behind him, pausing to slide the three bolt locks back into position. He walked over to his desk and roused his computer from sleep, sliding into the leather office chair and scratching at his five o'clock shadow in thought.

He glanced at his watch. 3:04. Eighteen minutes since Bain's call.

At 3:06 on the dot, there came a knock at his door. Walking over, he glanced out through the peephole to see none other than Hoxton standing outside. Disengaging the locks, he opened the door and glanced around. "You weren't followed, were you?" he asked.

"Please," Hoxton replied, slipping past him into the apartment. "Who do you think I am?"

"Just making sure." Dallas closed the door, locking it once more. "Now what's all this about?"

"What's the matter? We interrupt your date?" Hoxton asked with a sneer, dropping onto the nearest couch.

Dallas blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right, of course." Hoxton reached into his pocket, fishing out a keycard and dropping it onto the table. "But you may be interested to know that while you were off playing bachelor, I was getting work done."

"Can it, little brother," Dallas warned, taking a seat opposite the other heister. "What's that for?"

"Our next job," Hoxton replied. "Bain's lined up a nice little score for us in the harbor. Supposed to be a big shipment of gold arriving by boat tonight. It's gonna be stored in a secure warehouse overnight before being moved on by armored car to God only knows where."

"And the keycard is for what, the warehouse security room?" Dallas asked.

"Correct." Hoxton glanced at his watch, then nodded towards Dallas's computer. "Bain's forwarding the info to your secure address. Might want to take a look if you want in on the planning. I hear you like that sort of thing."

Dallas smirked. "You heard right, little brother. I'll take a look and see what I can do. When are we heading over there?"

"We have a six-hour window, from midnight until dawn. When exactly we leave and how we arrive is to be determined. So you might want to get started."


	2. The Harbor Heist

**Hey, everyone! Sorry there was such a delay getting this out. College started back up and has been kicking my ass, plus some continuing drama. Gotta love college life, eh?**

**Anyway, here's chapter two of Complications. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**~~o~~**

Dallas fished the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, deftly slipping one into his latex-gloved fingers and flicking his lighter with his other hand. A couple long pulls later and he sighed in relief as the nicotine worked its way into his system.

Holding the cancer stick between his teeth, he pocketed the lighter and cigarette box again, and checked his watch. 11:44. Sixteen minutes until the trucks arrived.

As he waited, occasionally taking the cigarette between his fingers to let out a puff of smoke, he thought back to dinner that evening. He'd taken a short break from planning to keep his date with Amanda, and it had been a surprisingly nice evening. It was true, she was a bit pushy - and was clearly using her good looks to try and manipulate him - but he was experienced enough at manipulation to realize it, and only gave her the information he was comfortable with her knowing, which was very little.

After a few minutes, Bain's voice crackled in his earpiece.

"Guys, I have a visual through security cameras in the docks. The boat's no more than five minutes away. Guess it's arriving ahead of schedule."

Dallas frowned. He hated any deviation from the plan, although this one should prove relatively harmless. But, as he had learned the hard way, a small change early on could lead to disaster down the road.

"Remember, the gold should be in a few big safes." Bain continued. "There's gonna be a lot, if my guy was telling the truth."

"Is Bile ready?" Dallas asked.

"I'll patch him in," Bain said, then after a short pause "Bile, you in position?"

"That's an affirmative," the helicopter pilot replied. "Ready and waiting."

The plan was a ballsy one. According to Bain's intel, there were five guards stationed at the warehouse overnight. Two of them, plus another from the boat and a handful of dock workers, would move the cargo - including the safes they were after - from the boat into the warehouse, where they would then be locked away behind multiple layers of secure doors wired with several different alarms.

So Dallas had decided to hit them before they got into the warehouse. It was risky, since if any of the guards got a gunshot off or the workers inside heard the van, they'd have cops and SWAT teams up their asses in no time, but it was much faster than the alternative.

"Boat's getting close, gang," Bain said. "Everyone mask up and get ready. Twitch, you good to go?"

"You bet," the driver said, but Dallas could tell he was nervous. The man did tend to live up to his callsign.

"Chains?" Bain asked.

"Ready and eager," the heister replied, and Dallas could hear the smile in his voice. At least there was someone else who appreciated the loud and fast approach. "Weapons loaded, gear triple-checked, ready to kick some ass!"

"Hoxton?" Bain asked.

"Roger that," came the reply. Dallas looked up at the window where he knew his brother was crouched, providing overwatch with a sniper rifle. There was a moment of silence as Bain waited for him to continue, but he said nothing else. That was Hoxton for you.

"Wolf?"

"Hell yeah!" Dallas flinched a little from the volume of the Swede's reply. "Let's do this!"

"Jeez, keep it down," he hissed around the cigarette between his teeth. "Do you want to blow this whole thing before it's even started?"

"How about you, Dallas?" Bain asked. "Everything look good where you are?"

"Yeah, fine," he replied curtly. "Ready to go." He stood across the street from the front gate, the keycard that Hoxton had given him lying in wait in his pocket. There were two gates between them and the cargo they wanted to steal... but the second one is what he'd brought in Twitch for.

"Boat just pulled up," Bain said. "The guards and workers are coming up."

"Twitch, start the engine," Dallas said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and throwing it to the ground. He slid on his mask, making sure the straps were adjusted right, and ground the cigarette under his heel. Reaching for his gun and the keycard at the same time, he started walking towards the gate. There was one guard in a booth next to it, but that wouldn't be a problem.

As he walked into the light, his gun was already up and aimed. The guard didn't even have time to look up from his book before Dallas fired, the suppressed pistol making no more noise than a polite cough and the bullet punching a small hole in the window and splattering the guard's brains across the wall behind him.

"Gate guard down," Dallas whispered, sliding up against the wall and getting the keycard out. "Bain, give the word."

"Wait for it..." Bain said. "They're lowering the ramp... the boat guard is coming out. They're unloading some crates."

Dallas swallowed, counting seconds off in his head. Blueprints and satellite photos ran through his head, the layout of the area that he had painstakingly memorized flashing in front of his eyes. In through the front gate, make a right, through the second gate and into the yard proper. Warehouse to the left, docks to the right.

"The first safe is coming out," Bain said. "Holy crap, it's huge... I can't wait to see how much gold is in there."

"Now?" Twitch asked.

"Wait," Dallas hissed.

"There's the second safe..." Bain said. "The first safe is halfway to the warehouse. It's now or never. If we're lucky, we can find a third in the boat."

"Hit it, Twitch," Dallas said, and swiped the keycard.

The gate slid open with a dull rattle that Dallas hoped none of the guards heard. Then a pair of headlights slashed through the gloom, and with the roar of an engine their van hurtled through the gloom towards the warehouse. The first gate slid out of the way just in time as the van rocketed through, taking the turn a bit faster than was probably safe.

Dallas never heard the gunshots, but Hoxton said "Three guards down."

"Damn fine shooting," Dallas replied, starting through the gate at a run. The van plowed through the second gate, a simple chain-link affair, without much difficulty, pulling a U-turn and coming to a screeching halt with its rear doors facing the stunned and terrified dock workers.

These doors banged open as Dallas charged past, and Wolf and Chains stormed out, guns at the ready. "Everybody down!" Dallas barked, and Chains ensured that they complied, with physical force when necessary.

"Okay guys," Bain said, "Almost certain somebody inside heard that. If they're not calling the police now, they will as soon as they walk outside."

"Dig in, everybody," Dallas said, taking his assault rifle from Chains as the other heister extended it towards him. He checked the load, made sure the sights were aligned, and racked the bolt. "Heat's around the corner, so we need to work fast. Wolf, can you blow those safes?"

"I have enough explosives for one of them," he replied, kneeling down by the first safe and opening his sack. "We're gonna have to drill the others, though."

"Do what you can," he said. "Hoxton, Bain, any activity?"

"Not yet," Hoxton replied. "But there will be. I heard that from up here."

"Okay, keep us posted," Dallas said.

The first safe blew open with a satisfying explosion, the door popping off like a cork from a wine bottle and skidding away across the ground. As the smoke cleared, Dallas peered in and couldn't help a triumphant grin. "Holy shit, that's a lot of gold," he said, grabbing up one of their empty duffel bags. "Get bagging, gang!"

Four, five, and then six bags of gold were piled into the van before the safe was empty, and Wolf started setting up a drill on the other safe. "Do we want to bother with the one in the boat?" Dallas asked, turning to Chains.

The big man shrugged. "More money is always better, but twelve bags worth is still a hell of a lot, and we don't want to stick around longer than we have to."

"Works for me," Dallas replied.

"Guys," Bain cut in over the radio. "Cops are on the move, headed your way! ETA one minute - these guys are booking it!"

"Okay, time to get dug in," Dallas said, looking around for any cover in the dock yard.

There wasn't much.

"We're too exposed here," he said, frowning. "Wolf, how long will that drill take?"

"Three minutes," Wolf replied curtly. "Give or take."

"Alright," Dallas said, brain going a mile a minute, "Twitch, kill the engine. Do your best to make the van look empty - we don't want you drawing any fire. Hoxton, cover the road. Hold your fire for now, don't reveal yourself too soon. Wolf, babysit the drill. Use the safe for cover if it gets too hot, that thing can take a beating. Bain, where are the cops?"

As if in response, the wail of a siren cut through the night, getting louder and louder at an alarming rate.

"Up your ass in ten seconds, tops," Bain replied.

Dallas took a deep breath, walking over to a pallet of bricks presumably waiting to be loaded on a ship as the nearby alley was painted in red and blue. Crouching behind it, he raised his rifle to shoulder height, sighting down the barrel and focusing. He forced his racing mind to slow, allowing all the plans and preparation to fade into the background as instinct started to assert itself.

One of the cops started yelling through a megaphone, like they always did. "This is the police! Come out with your hands above your heads! Do not attempt to resist or we will use lethal force!"

It was a routine speech. The man giving it almost certainly knew as well as Dallas did that they weren't going to come out, and they sure as hell were going to resist.  
_The price of fame,_ Dallas thought, latex-gloved fingers drumming on the foregrip of his rifle. The cop with the megaphone repeated his spiel, and when the gang made no response again the first SWAT team appeared. The two that came around the corner first were carrying riot shields, and the rest of the team followed behind. _Smart_, Dallas briefly acknowledged, his left hand dropping to his belt and unhooking a grenade. _But not quite smart enough._

Deftly flicking the pin free, he cocked his arm back and threw with all his might. The little metal sphere sailed through the air, striking the asphalt and bouncing a couple times before rolling to a halt between the two officers in the front of the formation.

A bare half-second later, the grenade detonated with a noise like thunder, bursting in a cloud of fire and smoke that sent SWAT officers tumbling in all directions. Chains opened up with his machine gun at the dazed and wounded officers, the hail of lead tearing through them as the massive gun roared like a caged beast.

"Two minutes!" Wolf yelled.  
Dallas was running on autopilot now, his instincts completely in control and his conscious mind shoved aside. The butt of his rifle kicked his shoulder again and again as he fired in bursts, and he only stopped when the weapon ran dry. Thumbing the release switch and dropping the expended magazine, he reached to his hip for another, unhooking it and deftly sliding it into the waiting rifle. He took a head count as he worked the bolt: five SWAT officers taking cover by the gate, at least another fifteen or twenty somewhere behind them, judging by the number of vehicles. And it sounded like there was a helicopter approaching.

"Hoxton!" he barked into his earpiece. "Do you have eyes on that chopper?"

"Yeah," his brother replied curtly. "It's heading your way from the north. Looks like a SWAT chopper, loaded for bear."

"As soon as it comes in range, take it down," Dallas instructed, hunkering down behind the pallet of bricks and scanning the sky. "I don't want those guys dropping down on top of us."

"Will do," Hoxton acknowledged.

As it turned out, they didn't have long to wait. The faint thrum of rotors quickly became a roar, and the helicopter's searchlight painted the crew in a wash of brilliant silver. "Now!" Dallas barked, and although he couldn't hear it over the howl of the helicopter's rotors, he could imagine the polite _thoomp_, little more than a whoof of expelled air.

Then the forty-millimeter grenade detonated against the helicopter's tail with a crash like thunder and a burst of strident flame, and the vehicle lurched drunkenly, pitching sideways and spinning towards the harbor, trailing sickly black smoke.

"Good shot," Dallas remarked, peeking over the bricks to take potshots at the advancing SWAT team.

"You're welcome," Hoxton jibed.

"One minute!" Wolf updated them.

The signature whip-crack of a sniper rifle registered at about the same time as blinding pain exploded in Dallas' left shoulder. The force of the bullet spun him half around, and when he was able to think again he was lying on his back, his rifle lying a few feet away. Glancing down, he saw a blotch of deep red quickly soaking through his brown jacket, and experimentally tried moving his arm. When pain lanced through his shoulder, he gave it up as a bad idea and drew his pistol.

Someone's hands grabbed him under his shoulders, and he bit his tongue to keep from crying out as agony shot through him. "Get the fuck up, man!" Wolf's voice sounded loud and worried in his ear. "_Kom igen, kom igen_, we gotta get out of here!"

Dallas shrugged him off, getting his legs under him and struggling to his feet. "I'm fine," he ground out through his teeth, forcing the pain to the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. "Where's the sniper?"

"I got him right after he got you," Hoxton replied over the radio. "Sorry. I wasn't quite fast enough."

"Don't worry about it," Dallas managed, dropping a few SWAT officers who had made it into the courtyard. Chains took out the rest with a burst from his LMG, and Dallas staggered over to the safe. "Wolf, this thing almost open?"

"Any second now!" Wolf replied, crouching down in front of it.

Sure enough, a scant few moments later, the drill punched through the last of the safe's resistance and Wolf quickly removed it and popped open the door of the safe. Dallas felt a little surge of savage joy as his eyes fell on their prize glittering within. "You two, start bagging!" he barked. "I can't carry gold with this shoulder. Hoxton, keep them off us!"

"Looks like the cops are pulling back, guys," Bain cut in over the radio. "They're re-grouping for another assault. You've got maybe thirty seconds."

"Perfect timing," Dallas grunted. Wolf and Chains started loading the gold into duffel bags and ferrying them to the van, as Dallas counted off seconds in his head. _Eighteen, nineteen, twenty..._

The last of the gold disappeared into a duffel bag as he reached twenty-five, and he started off at a lopsided run for the van. "Bile?" he called into his radio.

"Ready and waiting. I can be there in one minute," the helicopter pilot replied.

"Twitch, get out of here," Dallas ordered. The van thrummed to life, headlights cutting a swath through the gloom as Chains tossed the last bag of gold into the bay and slammed the doors. "We'll keep their attention until Bile gets here. Hopefully you shouldn't have too much heat on you."

Twitch gunned the engine without a word and the van roared off into the night. "Hoxton, get down here," Dallas commanded. "Before the cops come back, if you-..."

"Too late," Hoxton cut him off.

"Here they come, guys!" Bain warned.

"Great," Dallas muttered, hunkering down behind the empty safe and re-adjusting his grip on his pistol, his fingers sweaty inside his latex glove.

Sure enough, another SWAT team stormed through the gates, laying down fire as they came. Bullets spanged off the safe and slapped the ground around them, throwing up chunks of asphalt. Dallas leaned out and took potshots when he could, dropping a few as they paused to reload. Chains laid down suppressing fire, and Wolf opened the briefcase at his hip.

Flipping a few switches, he stood up just long enough to set the sentry gun up on top of the safe before hunkering down again. The automated gun made a few almost cheerful bleeps as it acquired targets, and in an instant started spitting out a stream of lead that cut across the advancing SWAT.

"Thirty seconds!" Bile cut in. "Get ready!"

Dallas thumbed the button on the side of his pistol that dropped the expended magazine, and reached for another. His shoulder was throbbing, every beat of his heart sending a pulse of jagged pain through him, but he wasn't about to let his crew down. Fumbling at his belt, he slid a fresh magazine from its sleeve and shoved it home with shaking fingers.

Chains glanced over at him. "You okay, man?" he yelled over the sound of gunfire.

"I'm fine!" Dallas shot back. Chains knew it was bullshit but also knew better than to question it, simply turning back to the advancing cops and keeping up a steady stream of fire.

Suddenly, Hoxton appeared at his side, dropping to one knee beside him and inspecting the damage. Dallas glanced over at him, and managed "How the hell did you get down here!?"

Hoxton ignored him. "Looks like it missed the bone, at least. Probably hurts like hell, but it'll heal just fine. Can you use the arm?"

Dallas grunted. "Barely."

Hoxton paused to take aim and fire off a shot from his sniper rifle before bending back down. "Better than nothing. You're the medic, though. Speaking of which, shouldn't you get a bandage on there or something?"

"No time now," Dallas replied. "Not in danger of bleeding out in the next couple minutes."

Hoxton nodded. "Fair enough."

The thrum of helicopter rotors drowned out anything else they could have said as Bile swooped in from the harbor. The helicopter kicked up a cloud of dust as it descended, hovering a few feet off the ground. "Get in here, guys!" Bile called over loudspeaker.

"The faster the better!" Bain chimed in, having to yell to make himself heard over the rotor. "I can see more SWAT vans incoming! They must have called _everyone!_ You have twenty seconds to get your asses out of there before this place is crawling with them!"

That was all they needed to hear. The crew bolted from their cover, sprinting across the short stretch of open ground as the surviving cops took potshots at them. The four heisters clambered up into the bay of the helicopter, Dallas having to get a helping hand from his brother when his bad shoulder gave out and he almost fell.

As the bay doors slid shut and the helicopter lifted off, the four men whooped and exchanged high-fives. Dallas elected not to share in that particular celebration, but managed a few fist-bumps before getting the medkit from his hip and opening it on the bench. Shrugging out of his jacket, he surveyed the damage and grimaced. Well, at least it had missed the bone, like Hoxton said. It could have been worse.

~~o~~

"Oh my god, your arm!" Amanda gasped. "What happened?"

Dallas sighed. He had known he was going to have to explain this somehow, and he'd gone over about ten different possible cover stories in his head on the way here. Glancing down at his arm resting uselessly in its sling, he managed an abashed smile.

"An ex-military friend of mine took me to a firing range," he said. "It's my own stupid fault, really. He told me never to point the guns anywhere close to myself, but I was sure the chamber was empty. Guess I'm just lucky it didn't take my head off or something."

Amanda bit her lip with a frown. Dallas paused for a second - was that real concern on her face? _Probably not_, the little voice in his head reminded him. _She's a damn good actor. Remember, you're supposed to be the one doing the manipulating here._

"Well I hope it heals up quick," Amanda said with a small smile. "So, shall we go find some seats?"

"After you," Dallas said, motioning into the restaurant with his good hand. He had bequeathed the choice of restaurant to her, and she had picked a local sit-down Italian place. Not his favorite, but tolerable enough.

She dipped her head in acquiescence and walked through the door. As he followed, his mind wandered back to the job they'd pulled two nights ago. The gold had all been stashed in one of Bain's offshore safe houses until it could be fenced. Bain had promised a sale within the week, but until then all they could do was wait.

Dallas slid up to the counter, leaning on it with his uninjured arm. "Table for two, please," he said.

The woman behind the counter took a moment to peruse a list in front of her, then smiled and replied "We have one open right now, sir. Follow me right this way."

She led the two of them back through the main dining hall to a nice, out-of-the-way corner. Dallas pulled out a chair and motioned for Amanda to sit. She complied with an amused shake of her head, and he sat down opposite her.

The waiter appeared mere moments later. "Can I get you two anything to drink?" he asked, glancing from one to the other.

"Just water, please," Amanda replied.

"Tea," Dallas said simply. "No sugar."

The waiter scribbled on his notepad, nodded curtly, and moved off.

"So," Amanda ventured. "You hear about what happened at the harbor on Friday?"

Dallas had been expecting that to come up. "Yeah," he said, neatly folding his napkin and laying it across his leg. "The Payday gang hit a warehouse, right? I heard about it on the news yesterday."

"Not a warehouse," Amanda corrected him. "A shipment in transit to the warehouse. They made off with millions in gold bars - estimates vary, but it could easily be low eight figures."

Dallas raised his eyebrows and whistled appreciatively. "Damn," he said with a small chuckle. "I bet someone had a really bad night."

"No kidding," Amanda replied. "And there's more. From what I hear, that gold belonged to some bigwig billionaire. You know, the type with more than a few politicians in his pocket. He's putting all kinds of pressure on law enforcement to find the Payday gang."

Dallas narrowed his eyes. "And you know all of this how?"

Amanda hesitated. She covered for it well, and most likely nobody else would have even noticed. But Dallas had spent most of his adult life deceiving and manipulating people, and he saw the nearly-imperceptible shift in her expression. Alarm bells started going off in his head.

"I told you, I'm a concerned citizen," she said with a smile that appeared genuine. "I've been doing a lot of digging recently, that's all. The Payday gang is the most successful criminal crew America has seen in decades. Isn't it natural to want to keep tabs on them?"

The waiter returned, setting their drinks down on the table and glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Are you ready to order?"

"Actually," Dallas said, giving Amanda a perfectly neutral stare. "I need to be leaving. I had forgotten, but we scheduled an extra meeting for the managerial staff to discuss our new security procedures." He laid a five dollar bill on the table, nodding towards Amanda. "That should cover my drink and half the tip. Enjoy your dinner."

"But you haven't eaten anything," she objected, leaning towards him. "What are you going to do for dinner?"

He smiled thinly. "I'll think of something," he said, then turned on his heel and walked out. His face was blank and emotionless, but his mind was going a million miles an hour.


End file.
